In The Shadows Of Gotham
by AnitaFaulks
Summary: As Catwoman bursts onto the scene, Batman finds more challenges in the form of the twisted Ventriloquist and vengeful Dr. Crane, but it's just another days work for The Dark Knight. Batman/Selina Crane/Selina Post BB
1. Selina

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story.

This is my first Batman fic, and I am sorry if the characters are not the same as they have been earlier seen in the comics- but I chose to reinvent them to fit with the new image created with the Nolan films.

The main characters are as follows- Batman, Scarecrow, Catwoman, Ventriloquist, Alfred, Lucius, Rachel etc.

The night was dark and Bruce strained to see ahead as a police car sped along the ground below- the red and blue lights flickering up the buildings. His eyes scanned the buildings to his left, right and straight ahead. There was no where she could have escaped to. No entrances, no exits. This was the Narrows, people had all the highest windows boarded up as it was the easiest point to break in from. If she had landed on the fire escape too much noise would have been made- the young woman had been wearing heavy black boots with metal adjustments. The wind whipped his cape about him and he looked around.

"Alfred, any ideas?" he spoke into the small microphone lodged in the neckpiece of his suit.

"Looks like you lost the plot Sir," there was a hint of amusement in Alfred's voice as watched from the safety of Wayne Manor, his vision temporarily blurred by the sweeping of the cape.

"She has to be somewhere," Bruce stalked up the side of the building impatiently.

He had arrived in the Narrows not half an hour ago after a tip-off from Gordon encouraged him that he may finally come face to face with the killer that had been plaguing the city over the past fortnight. Fifteen bodies in the first week, seven in the second. This was the first in the Narrows though- the first to even be in the same district as the Narrows for that matter. As Bruce had broken in to the flat however his suspicions had been put aside when he saw the Armani jacket hanging over the back of a rickety chair. The flat was a hide-out, used frequently by drug dealers and petty thieves he had later found out- so no help in solving the link between the bodies. Each had been found in the same way. None were gruesome, nor bloody, each was simply reclining back as if in a state of relaxation, a deep sleep of some kind. The only telling sign of their fate was a small band of deep purple on the skin of their neck, the embossed marks of a strong strip of leather, hand bound Bruce had guessed. Then he had heard the clink of glass in the bathroom of the flat, the smallest noise that would mean nothing to anyone, but in the year since his resurrection as the Batman, Bruce had trained every inch of himself to detect the smallest hint of a sound, anything out of place, and common sense could have told even the most warped and simplest of minds that any noise in a murder scene is notable. That's when the figure had burst from the toilet. Bruce had not been prepared for that. A twirling mess of six feet, long brunette hair and even longer legs came hurtling towards him, placing a well aimed kick in his stomach. He could not move quick enough to catch a glance at the face of the intruder, the murderer before she had fled from the window and scampered up the wall. Bruce had run to the window, watching as small metal clips on the back of her boots embedded themselves into the brick, tearing chunks out as she scaled the sheer vertical drop, ten floors above the sidewalk below. She visibly flinched as Bruce shot his grapple hook into the wall opposite and shot up, coming to match her height within seconds. She did not look at him instead had fled across the rooftop, her athletic legs carrying her at such great speed. Bruce was not far behind; there was less than a rooftop in it when she had thrown a small silver disk to her side. The disk hit the floor and erupted, a high pitched hiss filling the night air. Bruce's attention had been diverted for mere seconds and now she had disappeared. Walking to the edge of the building he looked all around him for any sign of movement. All was silent, even the city seemed unusually calm- for the first time in his memory he could hear the water lapping against the stone pillars of the docks not far away. He cursed, tearing the bat mask from his face and pushing back his dark hair that was glistening with sweat. Replacing the solid disguise he jumped to the next roof, examining the broader space surrounding him.

"Coming to catch me Batman?" a soft, seductive voice caught his attention and he spun around. The young woman was stood bolt upright, suspended on the side of the wall, being held by the clips on her boots. Her back was flat against the wall and she had her arms crossed casually.

"It depends," he began to slowly approach her, trying not to cause her to flee- he needed answers. The papers had been having field days with the knowledge that Batman was failing. He could thwart a plan to destroy the whole city but a young woman with a taste for expensive victims was eluding his grasp. "Why did you kill those men?"

"They were bad men," she answered without missing a beat. "All married, yet all willing to call for another woman, a stranger to come and keep them company," her voice was gently, and as the clouds parted her face was bathed in gentle light. Waves of thick dark hair framed a heat-shaped face, cheekbones prominent enough to pull her face into a gentle pout, yet not enough to make her appear gaunt. She was beautiful, there was no denying that- but Bruce was not here to debate about the appearance, she was a criminal and that was the end of it.

"They wanted prostitutes?" he asked cautiously, still edging ever closer.

"They wanted prostitutes," she replied nonchalantly. "Now if I remember correctly you were trying to rid the world of all the darkest people. I took it upon myself to help," she un-crossed her arms and jumped forward onto the roof, mere feet away from Bruce. "With the re-building of the city around the water mains, the re-capturing of all those criminals- those murderers, rapists, they were more interested in skirt," she spat the words, her demeanour changing instantly. Bruce suddenly became very aware that while at first she had appeared completely coherent, madness flicked behind her dark green eyes.

"They were all rich men, many of them famous in the city," he stated.

"That makes my point all the more plain," the woman cooed, flexing her hands impatiently. "The press will catch on soon enough- the next ones will have to be easier to read," she smiled darkly. "I knew they said that journalists were stupid, but I had no idea," she laughed.

"Justice never has to be violent."

"But isn't it that bit more fun?" she was mocking him now, teasing him, he was the mouse to her cat. Her confidence stunned Bruce. He was not much taller than the statuesque woman, but far broader, and he was armed, while she stood simply in an outfit completely black. He could see her hips, and her legs and no weapons were fixed to either. She knew she had the upper hand and Bruce found that he was intrigued by the pride with which she carried herself. Sirens broke the uncomfortable silence and the woman leant over slightly watching as three police cars headed in the direction of the broken down flats. "You tipped them off?" she smiled.

"I think you will find it was the other way around," Bruce stepped closer; he could now reach out and grab her arm.

"This was fun," she said looking around. "But I really should be going," Bruce didn't have time to think before her boot connected with his chin, knocking him backwards and she was gone across the rooftops, jumping the small gaps between each ones.

"Do you have the pictures?" Bruce gasped into his microphone.

"Yes Sir, the police are scanning their systems now, Gordon should be in touch as soon as they have a match." The line went silent for a few moments. "Dare I suggest that you pursue her Mr. Wayne? I dare say there is still time." Before he could finish speaking Bruce was already hurdling the walls the lined the edges of the buildings, slowly moving closer to the speeding figure in front. His hand grasped at the equipment on his belt, feeling for anything that could help him. Before he found something they were out of the Narrows and Bruce skidded to a halt. The woman had made the jump and climbed onto the top of a glass roofed warehouse- her boots clearly had some kind of piston fitted into the base. He could not make the jump and the grapple would crack the remaining panes of the already rickety roof. Instead he clipped the metal hook into the brick and abseiled down to the ground, taking off into the main section of the warehouse. He fled through it, only to find that the end was in fact edged by the docklands- meaning the killer had nowhere to go. His thoughts were confirmed when he looked up and saw her stood surveying the scene from above.

"May I suggest that any means necessary could be a good policy here?" Alfred's voice broke through the static again. Bruce took a deep breath, pulling one of his throwing disks from their pouch and hurtling it towards the sky. He heard the scream first as it went straight through the glass and into the woman's boot, ripping through the rubber soul. Then the glass around the hole fell away. In one last attempt to stabilise herself the woman shot out a slip of black leather, the whip wrapping itself around a beam- but it was not strong enough. She slipped and fell, hitting a lower beam and spinning in the air until she finally crashed onto the dusty concrete ground. Blood seeped from her left foot and freely from her gashed forehead. Her breathing was sparse and Bruce turned away from the scene as he heard Gordon greet him down the headset.

"Her name is Selina Kyle, daughter of the late entrepreneur Kyle...she attended Harvard, Bruce, there is no explanation for her actions."

"She is here, in a bad way, I suggest you get help to the warehouse by the docks, the one with the broken glass roof- I have done enough," regretfully Bruce turned around, jumping as he saw that Selina no longer lay on the floor, but that a small trail of blood led the way out of the large back doors. He sprinted the length of the building just in time to see her shivering body fall beneath the glimmering black surface of the Gotham docks. Moonlight danced on the water as she began to swim further away. Bruce did not move, instead he watched as she grew slower and slower, edging further and further out into the bay.

Selina felt her vision blur as she finally hit sand. Her foot was stiff with pain and her head throbbed. She dug her fingernails into the black sand, hearing the creak of metal above she could tell she had hit the sandy bank beneath the bridge that led to the Narrows. As she looked up she saw a bright beam of light in her eyes. Recoiling she ducked her head behind her hands.

"Sergeant, I've got her," the voice of a young policeman broke the night air and Selina fell into darkness as her arms were wrenched back into handcuffs.


	2. Dr Jonathan Crane

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story.

* * *

Jonathan Crane took a final look behind him and clicked the remote lock in his hand. The lights of his Aston Martin flashed once as the doors and windows locked. With another swift movement he pulled across the security gate across and slipped his code into the receiver.

"Take care of her," he said smugly to the guard on patrol- he was more than aware of the man's financial troubles and had decided that by seeing his own success it may provoke ambition in the man- an opportunity he could use if the situation in Arkham turned bad again. The guard didn't speak, he simply nodded, continuing his prowl of the parking area. Crane walked out of the car park and into the open air. It was still early morning and the Narrows beyond had only just started to wake up, as for the Asylum, well it never slept. He could hear the howls of the worse patients even through the thick brick walls of the outer building and after all his time here, it sounded like music to her ears.

The confident doctor was intensely glad that he would never again see the interior of one of those cells again. The events of a month previously had seen him captured almost instantly, his deteriorated state of mind leading him to make frivolous mistakes in his escape, but now he was glad. Murderers, rapists, the most dangerous of all minds had been recaptured across the city and entered to Arkham, swamped with the dear toxin; each of them had to be strapped painfully to their beds. The doctors had known that Crane was the only one in Gotham who could help- sure he was a criminal, but he had been working with different strains of the toxic longer than anyone else in the World, let alone the State. He had been quickly transferred from his police cell to Arkham where Jonathan or rather the Scarecrow was administered with enough antidote to keep him comatosed for nearly a fortnight. When he finally gained back his brilliant, albeit misled mind, the city was already under the attacks of the latest serial killer to grace the front pages of the Gotham Times. As easy as he had ascended the ladder the first time, he shot back up in the hospital's estimations. Many saw his experiments as a simple misguidance, fuelled by emotional issues that he had overcome, while others who knew him better were too afraid to challenge him. He smiled thinking about the fear- even after the obstacles his plan had suffered the searing emotion still adapted to his plan.

"Morning Doctor Crane," he turned to see a newer Doctor hand him a file. "Dr. Jefferson said you might want to take a look at this one," he scuttled off into the corridor leaving Jonathan stood on his own. He looked at the red highlighted square in the top corner- solitary confinement. Flicking through several pages he caught the gist of the prisoner. Whoever they were they had been implemented in the serial killer events of late. The more time they spent on their own the more likely they were going to make a straight confession, and the more tranquilisers that seeped through their veins would help him to 'treat' them. The killings were no unusual, for all he cared the killer could go straight to prison, he had enough twisted killers to analyse without adding this one to his list. Lazily he tucked the file underneath the folder in his arm and continued forward to his office. In the highest floor of the Arkham it was the one sanctuary from the madness and suffering below- and many still resented him for walking back into it so easily after his 'minor discretion'. He ignored all the other doctors and nurses as he passed them in the corridors, they had never liked him and he would never acknowledge them- it was an understanding that had run since he had first shot from the spotlight in medical school to the asylum five years previously. A small smile flickered across his lips as he heard the gentle thudding of one of his patients against the thick glass as he walked through the solitary confinement hall. They called it solitary confinement, it was more like a zoo, instead of metal cells the patients were enclosed in glass, and shutters were placed around them unless under observation. Four to a narrow hall and five narrow hallways that led to the secured elevator for the doctors. That was all the space the founder of Arkham saw fit to dedicate to the worst cases and as Dr. Crane walked into the final hall he was shocked to see four nurses all gathered around the furthest 'cabinet'.

"Why is she just sat there?"

"Why put her in solitary confinement? She is not dangerous," one nurse's cackle caused Jonathan to frown.

"Excuse me," he coughed as he walked towards them and they jumped back. He had no respect for any of them- as far as he was concerned they were simply there to make up the numbers, the doctors did all the hard work. "I am sorry, but I was not aware that patients placed in solitary confinement were of amusement for nurses on their lunch breaks," he held his dry tone, peering at them through his square spectacles.

"We are not on lunch," one of the younger nurses said, frowning at the icy glare she was receiving.

"Then why aren't you working?" Jonathan stopped and looked at them all, each breaking gaze with his fierce blue eyes moments after meeting.

"We were, we just, we just came to see the Millionaire Murderer," the Senior nurse tried to match Dr. Crane's gaze and his mouth upturned at the sides slightly.

"Ah, vivid readers of the tabloids are we?" he took off his glasses and slipped them into his jacket pocket. "If you will get back to work Nurse Fox- before I take this higher," he smiled cruelly and all of the nurses began to walk in the opposite direction, back down to the main wards.

He watched until they had shut the security door behind them and smiled slightly hearing their very vocal complaints about his attitude and arrogance. Happy that they were gone, he flicked open the file and scanned the article once more. One thing he hadn't noticed, the murderer was a woman, particularly interesting in Gotham which was exceedingly behind the times, still treating women like 1950's housewives. He looked up at the creature stalking behind the glass for the first time. He was stunned by her apparent calm nature. His eyes scanned from the floor up. Her feet were bare, the left bound tight in thick bandages, and simple white trousers sat too short above her ankles. Her arms were bound by the constraints of a discoloured straight jacket. Then he looked at her face. There was no expression, her face completely neutral as she walked back and forth, although he noticed dark red blood smudged down the side of her head. The nurses he discovered had not seen fit to clean and dress her injury properly.

He thought carefully, maybe he had been too quick to condemn her to life in prison, watching her file he noted her background. Her background of wealth was apparent from the way she carried her tall frame, and he guessed the intelligence was helping her to keep her sanity in these conditions, for one thing was certain, to his well-trained eyes she was by no means insane.

Selina had been pacing for four hours, twenty five minutes and fourteen seconds. The pain in her foot had not died, but if she left it there was no doubt it would stiffen up and soon she would lose the use of it completely for the incompetent medical advisor had ignored a shard of glass that was still lodged in her flesh. She had ignored the nurses; they had no idea who she was or any of her reasons. They were all clones; petite, pretty, delicate young women, like those who had bullied her throughout her time in High School. Now they thought once again they had the upper hand- but it was not over yet. Now she turned to the doctor, making eye contact with the first person since she had looked up into the eyes of the arresting police officer.

He was a lot shorter than her, a fact that would not have made her blood boil as much if he had been the other side of the glass, but her annoyance was settled by the expression with which he regarded her. He did not seem to have the same preditorial stance like the nurses before him. He was simply stood, his eyes scanning the page in front of him, she could see her profile photo- they had matched her Harvard graduation photo, at that time she could have easily slipped several thousand dollars into the pockets of the officers and nothing more would have been said on the matter. She had seen her father do something similar the night her mother died, when he shot the assassin who had completed the act. A memory that had haunted Selina from her days as a child, pushed her into outcast in her teens and now, in her twenties had segregated her even more from society than she could imagine.

Jonathan nodded to the young woman, continuing to walk along the corridor, he saw two male nurses walking towards him from the security lifts.

"I want patient 244-56 Kyle removed from solitary confinement, put into Ward C and make sure the doctor sees to her head and then her foot- it has clearly not been bandaged properly. I don't have time for these mistakes," he spat, slapping her file into the older one's hand.

Dr. Jonathan Crane spent the rest of the afternoon with his head buried in patient files. He had tried recovering any information on his previous fear trials, but Arkham had successfully deleted every trace of the illegal test and he finally gave up on trying. Pushing back his dark hair he rubbed his tired eyes and opened the desk drawer. One single blue flower with black thorns sat in the empty desk and he took it out, admiring its colouring once more. His attention was jogged as there was a loud knock on the door.

"Dr. Crane! Dr. Crane!" he heard the voice of his English colleague, Dr. Thomas and frowned. She was the worst to adapt to his return to the hospital, being that she had been the one who had alerted the authorities to the likelihood of his illegal activities in the first place. He did not reply but she flung the door open anyway.

"What is it Emma?" he grunted, looking at the small woman of middle years in front of him.

"You need to come and see this, we haven't sent anyone in yet, but still you need to see this," she turned and disappeared down the hall. "Ward C!" she shouted as the elevator doors closed, she knew better than to share the ride with Crane.

Jonathan took his glasses off once more and caught the next elevator down. By the time he had reached the security booth it was filled with doctors and nurses.

"Out!" he snapped, and everyone dispersed quickly. The Ward clerk of C stayed still and he sat beside the older man. "What is happening?"

"It's patient 244-56 Dr." He pointed to the nearest monitor which showed Selina's cell.

The young woman had one arm contorted back over her head, the left already loose from the straight jacket. "We don't know what to do, she isn't harming herself or anyone..."

"Just wait," Dr. Crane leant into the monitor as she flicked her arm out and the final strap came free over her head. Tugging at the thick material she cast it aside and turned around in her cell, now only clothed in a thin white T-shirt. She sat back onto the tough bed calmly, pulling her feet up to her and looking up at the bars on the window above.

"Extraordinary," Crane could not help but smile seeing the young woman. "I need to speak with her, have her transferred to one of the interview rooms. I want no cameras, no microphones, leave the jacket off, but make sure her hands are cuffed."


	3. Arnold Wesker

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story.

* * *

Arnold Wesker moved slowly down the packed Gotham Street.

He dodged between two battered prams being pushed by women who looked like they should still be sat somewhere in a High School Classroom. The sky was darkening and he still had several blocks to go before he reached his apartment. Lowering his face from view and slipping the thin rimmed glasses that sat on his nose into his pocket he pushed past a group of tourists who were holding a map and looking around aimlessly.

As he scurried past the courthouse he crossed the street, moving away from the streams of reporters and press that crowded the steps, waiting impatiently to get a single glimpse of the latest criminal to walk free thanks to the corrupt cops and judges, who despite Batman's best efforts still essentially ran the town.

The rain began to fall softly just as he reached the flat he rented. Five stories up, there was barely enough space to fit another person in the kitchen, the bedroom simply had a broken single bed slid into it and the living room a single arm chair. Arnold had not had a visitor in the seven years he had lived here- and he doubted that another human being would ever step through that doorway. On his release from Arkham it had been all he could afford- employers in Gotham were less than enthusiastic to snatch his services and he had saved little before being admitted. It was a world away from the hundreds of thousands that he could leave lying around the floors of his old Mansion. It was less than a decade ago that he sat in an oversized estate overlooking Gotham at such a distance he could barely smell the smoke of Gotham's industry quarter. Never quite as rich as the Wayne family, but at least his fortune had been earned, every penny a result of his tough hours in the offices. Now he was nothing, another shrouded face in the dying city. As he shut the door behind him the same twisted smile met his eyes.

Lying silently on his bed was a wooden doll, large in size the face was carved in a furrowed smirk, the eyelids heavy, flicked open as the face stared towards the ceiling. A trilby was perched on top of black varnished painted hair and a double breasted jacket covered the dummy's main body. Trousers and spats finished the gangster ensemble. Arnold moved carefully towards the mannequin, lifting it gently and sitting on the grey, felt blanket.

"Afternoon," he spoke in a strained voice, moving the mouth of the figure and turning the face to place it directly in front of his own. He smiled and stood up, hooking the limp legs over his arm and cradling it as if it were a child.

"It's good to be home before nightfall," his voice was deeper this time as he dropped the act.

"It's always more fun before nightfall," the model opened its mouth and cackled as Arnold walked towards the balcony.

"It's a beautiful day."

* * *

"There really is no explanation Sir," Alfred looked up from the newspaper. "Selina Kyle has not set foot in Gotham for over nine years. Last time she was here she was no more than twelve years old."

"There has to be something," Bruce rubbed his forehead and slumped into an armchair next to his trusted butler. "No one with a mind like Selina's just goes on a killing spree."

"Have you spoken to Rachel? Input from the DA's office could be useful- the police may for once be able to do more than you can," the sides of Alfred's mouth twitched.

"I've spoken to Lieutenant Gordon and so far no news from Arkham, although that place never fails to surprise me," Bruce slid the faxed profile from Gordon across the table. The butler picked it up.

"What am I looking for?" his eyes squinted, scanning the page.

"The bottom, 'Doctor of Treatment'," Bruce said and Alfred groaned.

"They've put a psychopathic killer in charge of a psychopathic killer- nice to know the health service is doing their job well."

"I need you to check if there is any possible chance of a history between Crane and Kyle. From what I have heard he was placed in Arkham purely to take care of those still suffering the effects of the fear toxin, placing such a high profile case underneath his watch was never an option," Bruce stood up and flexed his arms, stretching the muscles. As he stood up the phone on the side board began to purr gently against the cradle. He waved down Alfred who began to stand and instead picked it up himself.

"Mr. Wayne please, it's urgent," a voice barked down the phone before Bruce had time to speak.

"This is Mr. Wayne, who is speaking?" he turned and frowned at Alfred who lay his newspaper down on the table.

"It's Sergeant Cooper- Lieutenant Gordon asked me to inform you to get down to the Carter building as soon as you can make it," the young man's voice was shaky.

"How urgent exactly is this Sergeant Cooper?" Bruce asked curiously.

"Sir, turn on your television and make the decision yourself," the line fell silent and Bruce looked up.

"Put the news on in the cave, now," Bruce snapped, stalking towards his mechanical base which he had rebuilt perfectly in the South corner of the mansion. He has set LCD screens up in the driest areas- it was much easier to keep an eye on matters from his self made office than to spend his time running from room to room in the house.

* * *

"The death toll has so far been set at seven, although an unknown number have been admitted to Gotham City Hospital, many in critical condition," the petite, serious, blond news reporter gripped her microphone firmly and spoke loud to carry the sound over the commotion behind her. "Police has so far released no information as to the identity of the killer- all is known relates to amateur footage of bullets ripping across the street. It is thought that they came from an open window in the office facility, and although the entire block has been cordoned off- an official statement is expected within the hour which shall confirm all suspicions." Further down the street another reporter, a middle aged man similarly delved into the story as much as was possible.

"The Carter Building holds the basis for several leading insurance companies, as well as the Carefree Building Surveyors Corporation. It is most famous for being home to the now bankrupt millionaire Arnold Wesker during his rise to wealth during the 1980's, before the depression took this section of town. The attack appears to mirror the Park Shootings of last fall, when in an identical case bullets were showered from a nearby building onto innocent passers-by. The fact that no one was ever convicted for the crimes suggests once again that it could be the same perpetrator. Join us for our update in just under an hour Gotham City, good day," the reporter thrust the microphone into the hands of his waiting sound man and stalked away from the set. "We have an hour, get me out of this neighbourhood," he barked to a waiting broadcast van. Bruce scowled at the reporter and continued to the front of the tape where many were stood, looking at the destruction beyond. Debris and shattered glass littered the street and blood still stained much of the pavement, running in the gutter along with the rainwater that had fallen during the attack. Family members were stood with tears running down their faces as they looked at the spots where their loved ones had fallen.

"Excuse me Sir, please step back," A policeman ushered Bruce back.

"I am here to see Lieutenant Gordon, please tell him Mr. Wayne is here."

"Just because you are the Prince of Gotham, you can't just invade a crime scene demanding an audience with the Lieutenant Mr. Wayne, now if you can step back," the Officer pushed his backwards slightly and Bruce laughed.

"Look he called me, it's urgent, please go and tell him," Bruce stepped forward to the tape once more.

"I said..." the Police Officer broke off as Gordon slapped his hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Excuse me," he let the Officer step aside. "Bruce! Thank you for coming, come through," he lifted the tape and Bruce couldn't help but smile at the Police Officer who had suddenly become very interested in the sidewalk beneath him.

"What happened here?" Bruce said, looking around again.

"Massacre," Gordon furrowed his brow. "Seven died instantly, three children and now we have just heard from the hospital that another three have passed away- three are stable and there are another six in critical condition."

"Is it linked with the Park Shootings last year? The reporters seem to be using that as their basis."

"If it is its completely random, no links with last year, no reason for him to choose today," Gordon shook his head. "My boys have been in that building for just under an hour so I am waiting for a report of anything interesting."

"If they have footage of the bullets, are there no shots of the window, surely even the gun should be visible. It might save forensics time in analysing the bullets," Bruce looked up at the open window where white curtains were still billowing out over the street.

"The technical team were about to analyse that now," he began to walk towards a police van. "What's happening?"

Two policemen were sat hunched over a computer screen analysing the footage that a tourist had handed over after selling copies to the top news stations.

"Nothing yet, we are just checking time and date to confirm time of death for the hospital," the larger of the two men appeared to be dictating to the second who held secondary file of all those killed.

"Could you excuse us for a moment?" Gordon said, moving so Bruce could climb in beside him.

"Of course," the two officers stepped down from the van and moved out of hearing distance.

"Do you know how to use this thing?" Gordon signalled the computer and Bruce nodded.

"Yea I think I can handle it," he took a seat in one of the free chairs and began to work his way around the software. Slowing it down he managed to single out a frame as the camera swept up to the window. Watching frame by frame he kept his eyes close to the curtains which seemed to sweep backwards and forwards, at all time keeping the room covered from shot. Suddenly he stopped moving. Not only could he see the gun, but he could see the arm the gun was attached to, he could see it run up into a shoulder and then a neck and finally a wooden painted face stuck in a guiltless smile.

"What is that?" Gordon said, looking at the frame as Bruce remained silent.

"Looks like there is yet another person in Gotham who favours theatrics."


	4. The Cat Finds Freedom

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story.

* * *

"Patient 244-56 Kyle, beginning interview time thirteen hundred hours, perspective interview length, unknown. Interview conducted by Dr. Jonathan Crane." The psychiatrist pushed his glasses up and looked across the table at Selina. She was sat silently, yet the silence was not the quiet madness that consumed the other inmates of Arkham. She seemed like any other woman in her twenties, she surveyed her surroundings, looked at Dr. Crane enough to let him know that she was aware of him, but not too interested and she generally seemed bored with the entire situation.

"Good afternoon Miss. Kyle, or would you prefer Ms, or just Selina?" Crane tested the reaction to her name. It was not uncommon for a killer to shirk their identity when they began to murder, yet she showed little impact on hearing it.

"I would say Miss. Kyle, but let's settle with Selina," she leant back and crossed her legs.

"Okay, Selina, do you know why you are here?" Dr. Crane levelled his gaze at her own.

"I am guessing because that bat creature ran me off a roof and as I confessed to eleven murders they saw fit to incarcerate me here," she swept a stray strand of hair from her face.

"And you don't think you belong here?" Crane smiled and looked out the window.

"Well as long as it keeps me out of Gotham's corrupted courthouses I am perfectly happy to prowl around your zoo Doctor," Selina smiled sweetly, and Crane turned off the tape.

"Corruption? Surely as the daughter of Max Kyle you can afford to bribe them."

"You would think so but I decided to go out on my own a long time ago, and well, doing what I do the money isn't as great."

"And what do you do?" Crane asked, becoming more and more fascinated by the completely lucid woman sat in front of him.

"I would rather not specify as its one piece of information that isn't on my record yet," she smiled.

"So I take it we are on the same side of the page, as it were," Crane took his glasses off, leaning forward as he lowered his voice. "What do you do Selina? You fell off the map after you left Harvard and a lady like you does not just disappear into the shadows."

"I did exactly that Dr. Crane. Work is easier to find in the shadows," Selina looked out to the window. "I have been working as a hired hit-man for three years. I was untraceable until these last few months. I can see why you despise that Batman so much, he gets everywhere," she twisted a strand of hair around her finger.

Crane stood up and smiled. This was the perfect opportunity he had been waiting for. There was no evidence to pin Selina except for the word of Batman- and all that they knew about that was that he had thrown her from a roof. The events could be easily twisted and while Gotham may not wish to accept their saviour as a villain at first- the public were easily led, he had proven that many times before giving evidence in a courtroom. There was a knock at the door and Crane opened it.

"Oh, I am sorry Doctor Crane- I was just here to inform you that the police have uploaded a picture to the computer system, and we believe you may be able to assist with their case," Dr. Thomas looked at Selina who nodded and smiled.

"Of course, I had just finished this interview. Selina, if you do not mind being escorted back to your cell and I will try to sort out your release papers as quickly as possible. Once again I am sorry for the mishap," Crane let the two nurses move to her side and disappeared down the corridor, Thomas at his side.

"Release papers? I thought she was the 'Millionaire Murderer'?"

"Looks like Batman caught the wrong person. There is no way that woman in there is a killer," Crane pulled his glasses from his pocket as he entered his office.

"Can I listen to the tape? I was so sure we had caught them this time," Emma slowed down as they reached the doorway.

"The tape scrambled, we need new tape players- I have been here...on and off...since I left medical school and that is the same tape," he smiled and nodded. "Is that all Dr. Thomas?"

"Yes of course," she shut the door and disappeared down the hall. By the time she had reached the interview room the tape player had already been packed away, the 'scrambled tape' lost forever under the Doctor's instruction to nurses.

Crane spun around in the chair and logged into his computer system. The small icon own the bottom of the screen flashed with a single new email- there had been a time that within an hour he would have at least ten waiting from his fellow Doctors- holding him the highest contact for information. The page flicked up and the single image of a wooden face at a window, brandished a sub-machine gun hit the Doctor hard. He had not seen that doll in over eight years- it had been one of the first cases he oversaw at Arkham.

* * *

_" Move this way Doctor," a tall male nurse held open the door as the much smaller psychiatrist slid through, into the main wing of Arkham. "Your first case is in the third room along. Patient 132-78 Wesker is in with one of Dr. Thomas' patients, of course there is no one who does not know Arnold Wesker so clearly confidentiality is of utmost importance with this case."_

_"Of course, how long has he been in this condition?" Crane stopped outside the door, straightening the suit jacket. _

_"The patient showed definite signs of improvement, until Dr. Carlen left and it has been two weeks since he has received treatment, obviously in his state is was not helpful," the aid typed in the key code to the doorway. "Oh, and he won't go anywhere without the doll," he lowered his voice. "If you don't want to need to call for security, just let him bring it."_

_"What doll?" Crane drew closer to the nurse, levelling his gaze. _

_"His inmate brought in a doll, like a mannequin, ventriloquist thing," he stepped back from the door. "Looks old, has a large crack in it on one side of the face- gives most of the women in this place the creeps- he won't go anywhere without it."_

_"Thank you," Crane stepped back and walked into the cell. "Good morning Mr. Wesker, I am Dr. Jonathan Crane, I'm here to continue your treatment, would you like to follow me?" He watched as the thin, gangly man looked up from his bed on which he was sat, doubled over with his head in his hands. His roommate was slumped back on the bed, staring at the wall which was covered in scratch marks from a previous patient. The man did not look up; instead he pulled the dummy from his side and levelled it to face Crane. _

_"Sure thing Doc," the voice in which he spoke sounded like a child's entertainer form the 1950's, not matching the gangster attire draped around the wooden figure. _

_"Okay, let me take you to the interview room," Crane gulped and stood up, adjusting his tie and letting the nurse take the patients arm, he refused to touch his stained orange jumpsuit while wearing his finest tailored suit. _

_"I will set everything up for you, Doctor," Crane stood and watched as the nurse ended up near carrying the weak patient. _

_"Oh how the mighty fall," Crane muttered under his voice. He could still remember the time he was pushed into the gutter by photographers fighting to get a single shot of the millionaire whose mind was now dissolving more and more each day. "This is the reason I do what I do," he smiled, walking down the corridor, the folder tucked under his arm and the other hand tucked into his jacket pocket. _

* * *

"Wesker," Crane muttered as he looked at the slightly blurred image of the dummy. "Scarface..." he murmured. Picking up the phone he dialled through to the waiting police sergeant.

"Hello, Doctor Crane?"

"Yes, the man you're looking for is a Mr. Arnold Wesker- that dummy has belonged to him since his time at Arkham."

"Thank you Dr, would you care to come down to the station to confirm a few issues?"

"No I am sorry, I will be staying here, I want nothing more to do with the case- I am already on probation, I believe Lieutenant Gordon would not exactly welcome my return to the case," Crane 

slammed the phone back down and moved her gaze to the case file of Selina Kyle that was lying on his desk.

The Chief of Medicine at Arkham was quick to assess her file, and it did not take long for him to agree with both Crane and Dr. Thomas' insisted extra analysis that Selina Kyle was in fact, of complete sound mind. They had even gone as far as to apologize for the incompetence of the police, for the incarceration of solitary confinement and were even offering the help of a lawyer if she wished to file a complaint. Selina, however merely replied that she wished to sweep the whole misunderstanding under the carpet and strode from the building, her head held high, wearing the black clothing she had worn when arrested. Crane had managed to have one of his contacts deal with the weaponry she was found with and now, for the whole world to see, an innocent woman walking from one of America's most renowned asylums, her forehead scarred by a wound inflicted by the so-called heroic Batman.

The few photographers who dared to enter the Narrows to get the single photo of the tall woman walking down the steps did not stay long enough to see her walk through the main yard, down a spiral flight of metal stairs and slip into the passenger seat of a silver Aston Martin.

"Get me out of here Crane, I have work to do," Selina flipped down the mirror and pulled at her dishevelled hair. "Two days in that place is more than enough for me," she concluded, watching out the window as the building disappeared into the mist behind her.

"I don't know, it grows on you," Crane turned and surveyed his newest ally carefully, his eyes scanning from her slender legs to her voluptuous chest and finally to her dazzling green eyes. The corners of his mouth twitched as he sank back into the driver's seat.


	5. Watching from the rooftops

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story.

* * *

Bruce left the manor after his morning work-out.

Gordon had been in touch to let him know that the police had kept Wesker's apartment under close surveillance throughout the night, but now the force was so over-stretched across the crime ridden town that he had to leave it open. Bruce had immediately offered himself up as a replacement. The death toll had risen and it now stood that six children had lost their lives to the twisted ex-business man and when he chanced returning to his apartment, Bruce trusted his own brand of vigilante justice over the corrupt courts that still cursed the legal system of Gotham.

The papers that day had been covered with the story, although all information regarding the identity of the main suspect was kept quiet. While in an up and coming, thriving city, the people could enforce their own laws, capturing criminals who masqueraded as neighbours and friends, in Gotham to release the identity of a criminal before they were caught was to condone at least three hundred violent attacks supposedly targeted towards the 'criminal'.

As Bruce moved, under the cover of his 'uniform' he moved through the empty backstreets. The weather was doing the best job of keeping unwanted parties off the streets so he could dedicate his time to catching the mystery man who had led to the previous day's massacre.

* * *

"Any sign of Mr. Wesker, Sir?" Alfred sat patiently at the large mahogany desk that had been placed in the main study of Wayne manor years earlier by his master's father.

"Nothing, it has been twenty four hours and no one had even approached the doorway," Bruce was perched on the emergency steps across from the building in which the ex-millionaire had reportedly been living. "There are signs of life, but I would guess he hasn't been back since his outing yesterday."

"Hmm, well without wanting to sound, well rude Sir, I think you could have worked that out for yourself," Alfred fought back a smile.

"Yes, and you couldn't have told me that six hours ago when it started to rain Alfred?" Bruce said wryly, pulling the cape closer about his chest plate to shield it from the constant spears of rain. "I will make my way back, Gotham seems to have gone to bed early for once," he looked out onto the street beyond which was unusually quiet. He squinted and saw a solitary couple walk hand in hand down the centre of the street, the woman twirling under the man's arm before he caught her and dipped her romantically. Bruce smiled slightly, remembering the time he would have given anything to hold Rachel in that way.

"Ah, it brings a tear to my eye," a familiar voice sounded behind him and he spun to find Selina Kyle perched midway up the wall, her boots lodged deep in the brickwork.

"You work your magic quickly Kyle," Bruce growled, getting his grapple ready to chase her if she fled. Selina noticed his caution and she smiled.

"Aw, Batman, if you chase me another story may have to appear telling the World how overly obsessed you are becoming with me, an innocent heiress," she held up a copy of the next morning's paper.

"Hero turns Stalker," Bruce read, "catchy. It will never stick."

"I beg to differ," Selina's expression suddenly turned dark. "You take one step towards me and the press are going to get enough to feed them for weeks." Bruce stood still.

"Fine, I am listening, now what do you want?"

"I didn't want anything, I am here to talk with someone," she looked past his shoulder at the building behind.

"Who are you here to talk to Selina?" Bruce spoke loudly. She glared at him.

"How is that any of your business?" she purred.

"You may be untouchable, but you are a murderer and you are now in league with Crane so I am taking no chances in underestimating you," Bruce sat back on the railing of the fire escape.

"I am not 'in league' with Crane," Selina laughed. "I work alone."

"So Crane is...a distraction?" Bruce raised an eyebrow and even underneath the mask Selina could see his amusement.

"And you are...jealous?" she chuckled pulling one of her feet out of the wall and flipping it over the side of the building. As she reached the top she drew closer to Bruce. The caped warrior stood silently, watching as came within inches of his face. He gulped as the soft smell of her hair reached his senses and he felt a slight weakness in his knees.

"I didn't see Crane as your type," he crossed his arms and Selina smiled.

"I have a type?" Selina said sweetly and Bruce became very aware of how she was playing with him. "So what's my type?"

"Look, if you are working with Wesker I suggest you get out of here now because if he ever shows his face around this building again, he will be thrown in a cell to rot before he can open one of the rusting locks and that broken front door," Bruce snarled at the woman, sick of her coy approach. Her expression changed instantly.

"What do you know of Wesker?" she snapped, reaching out her arm to the small space in-between Bruce's chest plate and chin. He felt the strength in her grip as his windpipe tightened. He snapped his own arm to her neck, letting his fingers slip up near the pressure point under her jaw.

"Wesker is a murderer, why are you looking for him if you don't work for him?" he spoke huskily, feeling his lungs crave for air. She squirmed as he pushed harder into the hollow beneath her chin. She relaxed her arms slightly and he pulled back. Dropping her arm completely Selina stepped back away from Bruce.

"Wesker was on the list," she grunted. "Now I am falling behind," she flicked her head and Bruce saw once more the flickers of madness behind her catlike green eyes.

Bruce was about to speak when he heard the sound of tires screeching and saw a silver sports car pull up below.

"Your boyfriend's here," Bruce mused, letting the corners of his mouth arch into a smile.

"I will be right back," Selina moved to the edge of the roof and balanced out on the end, wavering on the support of the silver clasps. She raised her arms behind her head and jumped; letting herself drop fourteen stories before kicking her feet back into the wall. She jerked violently and then dropped the final six feet to the ground. Walking to the car Bruce saw the window wind down and Selina leant in. He moved to the corner of the roof, sinking back against the railing so he could watch without being seen from below.

Selina moved her face close to Crane's as she whispered in his ear. He titled his head back and Bruce saw the familiar rectangular glasses glint in the dim light of the final street lamp that remained un-smashed in the long road.

Selina pulled back from the car, keeping her arm resting on the door, she looked down the street briefly before lunging forward. She caught Crane off-guard, kissing the be-speckled psychiatrist fiercely.

Bruce frowned slightly, feeling himself gulp as he saw her bite his lip as she pulled away. The window was wound up and the car drove on. Selina returned her gaze to the top of the building and within seconds, a flurry of debris and a slight groan of effort she was stood face to face with Batman once more.

"Crane checking up on you?" Bruce said, feeling the words catch in the back of his throat.

"No, he knows I am a big girl now," she smiled, pouting her lips. "Anyway, the night is young and I have plenty more prey to stalk, I better be going," she turned around and looked at the line of rooftops before her.

"What are you some kind of Catwoman?" Bruce grunted as she arched her leg up behind her, stretching the muscles out.

"Catwoman? I like it," her face caught his attention so much he failed to see the smoke canister she pulled from her belt and by the time the smog had cleared she had long disappeared across the vast city skyline.


	6. Playing with the Cat

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story.

* * *

Selina sat at the large mahogany desk silently.

The wood was barely noticeable beneath the sheets and sheets of newspaper that she had draped over it, scattering patient files all over the floor.

"Are you quite finished destroying my case histories?" Dr. Crane raised a single eyebrow over the top of his thin rimmed glasses and watched the young woman across the room from him. She ignored him and continued to file through the newspapers, before flipping open Crane's laptop. "Do you have the code to access all of Gotham's news history? They recently closed off the files to anyone not accounted as an 'official'," Selina didn't look up, but kept her gaze focused directly on the screen in front of her.

"Wayne Industry, no spaces, no capitals," Crane moved his icy blue gaze back to the Gotham Times in his hands.

"Cute," Selina snapped, entering the news database.

"It is the centre of our world," Crane spoke up, his tone only slightly sarcastic. He looked up from the broadsheet and looked at Selina once more. "Why are you studying the news so much anyway?" he folded up the paper and laid it into his lap.

"I haven't been in Gotham for nine years and the city has changed more in that time than it changed in hundreds of years," still the young woman failed to look across at the man who took her away from the asylum and let her loose on the city once more.

"Anything you want to just ask?" Jonathan stood up, straightening his grey pin-stripe suit. "We could save a lot of time."

"No I am fine," Selina said gently, but firm, leaning further over her desk. As Jonathan approached she didn't let her attention get drawn away from the progress of the search she had initiated.

"Okay...why were you in that district of Gotham last night?" He leant back on the edge of the desk next to the laptop.

"I was working," Selina said, keeping her gaze still levelled at the screen, unfazed by the subtle scent of expensive aftershave reaching her nose. Crane sat silently for several moments before clamping his hand down on hers firmly.

"This is not a game Selina, why were you outside _that_ apartment block?" Selina looked to her hand and then to the man who grasped it, the gaze of her emerald eyes betraying no emotion.

"Take your hand off my Dr. Crane," she snapped, but his hand nor his steely glare altered, not until she felt the lean muscles in her arm flex and the grip grew stronger. Without flinching she reached down into her boot and pulled a small switchblade. "Get your hand off me," she drew her face slightly closer to his.

"Why were you there Selina, let me in, I can help you," he relaxed his grip, but left his hand atop hers. Selina kept the switchblade in her right hand, leaving her left relaxed underneath Crane's.

"Psychiatry has never worked with me Dr. Crane, don't expect to suddenly start making progress," the corners of her mouth twitched with amusement at his attempt to get information.

"Does it have anything to do with Arnold Wesker?" Crane gulped slightly, moving his face back from Selina's. He pulled his hand away.

"You know Wesker? What do you know?" Selina's composure suddenly became a lot friendlier towards the doctor.

"Patient confidentiality I am afraid," Crane pushed the glasses to the top of his nose, enjoying the way that Selina shut the laptop and pushed it aside, her face like thunder.

"Please," she said pouting her lips together, her striking dark eyebrows softening. "Just for me?" Selina knew that she was taking a chance, expecting the twisted doctor to respond to her advances in the same way that the other men had. It was still new to her, using herself in this way to achieve what she wanted, but it had worked every time before- plus he had not pulled away from her the night before when she tried to distract Batman.

Crane gulped, as if he too was weighing up the pros and cons of the situation in his head. Selina took the silence as permission and leant forwards, coming nose to nose with the doctor. He snapped forwards, covering her mouth with his own and she slid back in the chair with surprise. Pulling away she took control of the kiss and gently grazed her full lips over his, slipping her arms around his neck and wheeling her chair back towards him. He slipped his hands up her neck and into her hair intensifying the kiss.

"Just for you then," he whispered pulling back.

Crane was surprised at himself for the first time since he had first taken a man's life. Even throughout his first doomed experiments in Gotham he had never broken the line between doctor and patient- he always claimed his medicine was part of their treatment. Despite the fact that Selina was no longer his patient, he was still shocked at his agreement to tell her of Wesker, but then again the psychiatrist was quickly becoming intoxicated with the woman. The way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she bit her lip when concentrating on her 'mission'. The doctor could not remember the time when such a woman had affected him in such a way, but while his hands stretched to the waistline of her black jeans and her hands slid down the knot of his tie, the single image of her stood talking with his one enemy the night before made him promise himself he was going to use her as much as she was using him.

* * *

"So what you're saying Sir is that Miss. Kyle and Dr. Crane are in league with Wesker?" Alfred took another sip from his mug of tea. He was sat reading the paper that Selina had left Bruce with the night before, trying to hide his entertainment at the article in front of him.

"Alfred, can you take this a bit more seriously?" Bruce reached over and took a slice of toast from the plate in the centre of the table. "I don't know whether they are in league, Selina seemed shocked that Wesker wasn't in the building and didn't know anything was up."

"Well whatever is happening I think if you mean to meet with her again that you go as Bruce Wayne- two failed heirs talking over the turn of fortune that has befallen them might be easier," Alfred folded the paper up with a final chuckle and threw it into the kitchen work space.

"How am I suppose to get answers out of her- she has no idea who I am and if she knew- that would be the end of everything," Bruce set the half eaten toast down and stood up. "Alfred, I don't think I am hungry." He threw the towel from his work out that he had slung over the chair across his shoulders and proceeded to head towards the shower.

* * *

Wesker sat back in the shabby leather chair that had been worn badly by the seeping damp and was covered in scratches caused by falling debris from the office above. He spun around, Scarface clutched delicately in his arms.

"One more day closer to freedom," he whispered gently into the doll's ear. "Not long now," he rocked back and forwards as if cooing a baby to sleep. His turned to face the window which looked out over the street directly below. The buildings opposite were teeming with life. In the days since he had first opened his office here, before moving to space further central, rival companies had surrounded him. Now the offerings were food from every country, magazines and videos for every taste and weaponry for those with only one motive on their mind.

He watched the everyday scum of Gotham, as he called them, wind in and out of the newspaper stalls and smiled at the headlines of the paper which failed to even mention his gruesome attack days before.

His attention was drawn by the appearance of a woman who didn't fit with the crowd. She stood a head above many of the other citizens, long dark hair pulled up behind. Donned in dark jeans, a black top and a leather jacket to everyone else she slipped in with the dim exteriors, but Wesker knew exactly who she was and why she was here.

"The Cat's come out to play," he laughed, using the voice of his murderous alter ego.

"Let's go and play," Arnold stood up, balancing the doll on his arm.

Rain begun to dash against the windows of the building as Arnold walked down the spiral staircase. He could have taken the front door, but he knew that she would never be that careless, so instead he flipped around the back. Scarface sat back against the man's chest, his eyes wide and his face set in the eerie smile that had killed all those people two days before.

Selina slipped into the back alley, pleased that no one had noticed her presence. The aviator glasses that sat across her eyes disguised her from the smiling photo that shone out of the second page of the Gotham Times, and to add to it, no one expected such a woman in that area of town.

She walked silently to the fire exit and slipped her hand onto the latch to open it. As she did the door flew open inwards and she stumbled forwards. Expecting to hit the floor she braced her hands in front of her, but before she could drop another inch she snapped back as cool, hard metal cracked against her temple and sent her flying back into the trash can in the alley.

"Look what you did to the poor kitty," Selina heard the sentence through the rain as it flecked her cheeks, but from that moment she was consumed by darkness and silence.


	7. Selina meets Wesker

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story.

Heya, I am sorry about the time it has taken to get this story up- I am having a tough week...final exams at college, Ive had a flu virus, lost my voice and yesterday I managed to lock a rib while jogging! Thanks so much to all my reviewers though and those who have put the story on their alert list- it means alot! I hope you enjoy the new chapter. I will try and get another up as soon as I can but I have exams all day wednesday and thursday. Thanks again.

* * *

Bruce sat slumped over the computer, a large mug of coffee in one hand, the other clicking away madly on the mouse.

"What are you doing Bruce; you have been up here for hours?" Alfred pulled the cord of his dressing gown tighter and sat down on the chair behind Bruce. "Surely there is some crime syndicate forming in the narrows that you should be dealing with?"

"I can't focus Alfred," Bruce rubbed underneath his eyes. "This is driving me crazy," he sat back in the chair. "Wesker has to be here somewhere, the man was born and bred in this city, and he never left even when at the peak of his wealth."

"Have you looked into his childhood, is there a home he would visit?"

"No, nothing, the house they lived in has another family there, there isn't any way he would manage it," Bruce looked up at his butler, annoyance flicking behind his dark brown eyes.

"I don't know what to say Sir, has Lucius given any input on the subject?" Alfred took away the empty mug and stood up.

"I rang him earlier but he didn't know anything more than we do."

"Well I wish you good luck Sir, but I really must be getting to bed," Alfred smiled at the defeated man and walked from the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Bruce sat still for several minutes, deciding in his head which route to take next on his search. He looked through the history file for Wesker, his eyes flicking over his abridged biography.

"Muir Avenue," he muttered under his breath. "How did I miss that?" he jumped up and ran through the house, banging the doors just loud enough to keep his tired butler awake for several more minutes.

* * *

Wesker stood back, admiring his work.

In the days since his flee from the crime scene in the centre of Gotham he had quickly constructed a make-shift operating table, much like those he used to control in the laboratories under contract to his office. In reality it was a simple camp bed laid out in the centre of the office, shrouded from the dust-covered windows.

The medical appliances he had fitted, using the electricity drawn from across the street were similarly as old. Pulled from the stock rooms at the Carter building Wesker had struggled to carry them away and still manage to escape before the Gotham police had responded to the massacre. Still, he made it away and now the machines that hadn't been switched on in eight years purred with life once more.

The ventilator slowly lifted and fell, beeping as the air coursed through Selina's body. She was laid out on the metal table, her long legs hanging over the edge so the metal corner dug into the back of her knees painfully. The pain went unfelt as she hung in a drug induced haze under the control of the appliances above. Her temple was black with bruising, and dried blood clotted the fringe that fell roughly across her forehead.

Arnold moved closer to her, stroking his hand along her arm. Scattered stitching ran down the inside of her arm, from just under her armpit right down to the wrist.

"Is the kitty okay?" Arnold threw his voice to Scarface who was perched on a director's chair close to the table.

"She's fine," Arnold said, looking at the heart monitor beeping monotonously.

"Can we wake her?" the dummy spoke back, the painted eyes boring into the figure lying on the table.

"She should be coming around soon," Arnold spoke softly, moving closer to the cat. He leant down and removed the oxygen mask from over her mouth and nose and stood back, adjusting the drips that ran into the veins on her arm. "Now we just have to sit back and wait for her."

"And then are we going to keep her?" Scarface spoke as Arnold lifted him from the chair and held him close.

"As long as she doesn't have nine lives, then yes, we can keep her," Arnold sat back in the chair, sitting the puppet on his knee to watch the sleeping figure in front. Both their attention was drawn away from Selina when the jacket on the floor to the side began buzzing with a ring tone. Scarface turned his neck to look at Arnold who shook his head and sat back once more, looking at Selina.

* * *

"Come on," Jonathan Crane paced up and down his office impatiently. "Selina, pick up your phone," he sat down into the high-backed leather chair and reclined back. The intercom on his desk suddenly buzzed.

"Dr. Crane, your two o' clock is still waiting, shall I ask them to re-schedule?" one of the office girls from the ground floor of the asylum's voice burst into the room. Crane cursed and dropped his mobile onto the desk. He pushed down the intercom button.

"No, can you apologize and tell them I will be down in a moment," he sat back and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, taking a deep breath.

Selina had disappeared the evening before, saying she was just going out for a moment. The last time she had answered her phone Selina had avoided telling him where she was, but simply told him that she would be back to his apartment soon and without injury. Thirteen hours later and he had not seen or heard of her. He had left a message with the doorman at his building that if she was to show up that he should be contacted immediately. The wait was driving him crazy though, and on the afternoon when he completed private appointments on the ground floor of the asylum, having his concentration faltered was never going to go un-noticed. Dr. Thomas had already been to him several times that morning, complaining about the mistakes the nurses had picked up on many charts and due to the delicacy of his involvement with Selina he had put the mishaps down to illness.

"Thank you Dr. Crane," the voice confirmed and silence took over the large office once more.

"Come on Sel," Crane muttered, staring at the display on his mobile, waiting for a text or phone call.

* * *

Selina's eyes flickered open.

All she could see were blurred shapes moving above her as two faces seemed to stare down at her. As she tried to lift her head from the cool metal she felt the heaviness in her head and dropped it back down, taking deep gulps of breath. She felt pain twinge on the back of her legs as she lifted them away from the table, dried blood clotting up her jeans where the sharp metal had cut in.

Pain shot up her arm and she tried to look at it, adjusting her vision on the stitches that ran up it.

"Where am I?" she said, her voice course and raspy, seeing the faces disappear from above her.

"It doesn't matter," Selina frowned at the squeaky voice that spoke back to her.

"Who are you?" she asked, trying to sit up. Someone caught her shoulders and pushed her roughly back onto the table.

"I am Scarface," the dummy moved into Selina's vision and she propped herself up on her elbows. Selina scrambled for the strap that was holding her waist against the table.

"What have you done to me you sick son of a..." suddenly pain shot through her arm and she screamed out, her voice echoing through the building.

"It's not polite to curse," the voice spoke again, laughing like a small child. Selina scowled once more.

"Why are you doing this?" she spoke, trying to keep her tough exterior on show. The voice that replied this time was a deeper voice, the voice of a man.

"From now on Selina Kyle, you are my pet." Selina laughed at the comment and once more her body coursed with pain.

"In your arm is a simple implant, which I control, naturally. Basically, you do as I wish, or enough poison to bring down a herd of cows finds its way into your blood stream. The effects you 

have felt are a result or about one thousandth of the amount fitted into your arm," the voice seemed particularly happy at the thought of the substance in Selina's arm.

"You bastard," Selina tried to sit up and felt the belt across her lap snap away. "Wesker!" she seethed seeing the man's face.

"Exactly the reaction your father had...you look like him you know, and your mother."


	8. Task One

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story.

Okay another chapter today! I got really tired of revising and as I am going to have to take a break from writing for a few days, I thought I would get this up!

* * *

It was now evening and Dr. Crane had just finished interviewing his final patient of the night. As the nurses came in to move the frail woman back to the non-secure wing of Arkham he reached into his pocket and found that Selina had yet to call or leave a message. He cursed and stalked from the office, slamming the door behind him.

As he walked into his apartment he called out Selina's name in the hope that she was just throwing a typical female tantrum due to something he had done and was in fact sat on his desk, messing up his files and running up his electric bill. The flat hadn't changed since he left it that morning, and the Doctor surprised himself by the worry that seemed to twinge in his stomach.

He looked around the flat, for any sign of the mysterious young woman. He could find nothing out of place. Her clean clothes were still folded up next to her bed, while her clothing from two days earlier was still strewn out by the side of his bed, scattered where he had pulled it off in the heat of passion.

He looked at the computer, but all the history files had been cleared, and every record of her actions had been deleted.

Sighing he leant back in the chair and looked out the window. Suddenly the silver trash can by the side of the desk caught his eye and he leant forward. A single sheet of paper was folded in half and lying on top of the general paper rubbish. He lifted it up and read out the headline.

"Disturbed Wesker, A History," the article was a biography that had been written at the height of the millionaires fall. When the papers were constantly vying to get a photographer inside Arkham, or steal an interview with anyone that had been in contact with the middle-aged man. Crane's eyes scanned the page. It was nothing unexpected, a rags to riches story of how the man had grown up in the Narrows yet made his own way and finally made it big in Gotham.

In her tight, curled hand Selina had marked next to 'Carter Building' and 'Muir Avenue'. Crane looked at it and leant forward over the page.

* * *

Bruce had worked out Wesker's location just before Dr. Crane. Through his continued endeavour however, he rightfully should have been there before Selina. Driving under the cover of the sudden darkness that had taken over the city, Bruce sped past several speed cameras, keeping his fingers crossed that no flashes lit up the street around him. After the third camera he turned down a side road and began to speed up through the back alleys- his presence unknown beneath the noise of churning boilers and arguing families.

He stopped about a block from the building on Muir Avenue, leaving the tumbler tucked in the labyrinth of alleys that lined this quarter of town. No one would find it, and even if they did there would be no way of damaging of infiltrating the armoured exterior.

Using the grapple, Bruce swung up onto the roof tops, and began travelling across them until he finally set down onto the building that his GPS confirmed as Arnold Wesker's old office.

"Good luck Sir," Alfred buzzed in over the earpiece. "I fear even though we remain the good side of the Narrows Bridge that the response could be similar in force and danger."

"I know which is why I am not taking any risks. Wesker is armed, and twisted, he could be planning anything," Bruce leant over by an air vent and removed the metal gently, covering the grate with his cape to smother the sound.

He listened down the vent but couldn't hear any snippets of sound of movement in the rooms below- but the building was old and the ducts could have easily collapsed on themselves at some point in the offices below.

He moved round to the fire hatch on the other side and lowered himself down into the top floor. It was empty, so Bruce swung through the desolate rooms and made his way to the spiral, window-lined staircase.

As soon as his foot set down on the first step he began to move slower, sliding down the stairwell as gently as possible.

* * *

Selina ground her teeth together, feeling a slight relief in tension as her top jaw crunched against the lower. She had been moved, roughly, to a metal chair and with duct tape had been bound to the arms and legs. The drips from her arms had been removed but Wesker had failed to treat her head and knees and as the effects of the painkillers wore off, her head began to pound as the rest of her body ached.

The single glance she had managed at her phone display told her that Crane had been trying to get hold of her since the previous evening. Her only hope currently rested on the discovery of Wesker's details by Crane. She looked up as the man in question, the man she hated with every inch of being moved back into her line of vision.

"How are you feeling?" he shone a torch into her eyes and she recoiled against her restraints.

"Like I need to stretch my legs," she murmured, edging her limbs to the furthest extent she could and then pulling them back.

"Not long now, not long," Wesker smiled, kneeling in front of her. "I just need to make sure the drugs have worn off completely, I need all your focus for your first task."

"My first task?" Selina smirked. "Is this some kind of twisted game show you have pulled me into?" Wesker didn't reply instantly, he just kept his gaze levelled at Selina, staring into her eyes.

"I think you are ready," he stood up and walked to the table, picking up a small, black rectangular box. "It would be in your best interest to stay as calm as you possibly can." He waved the remote that controlled the implant in her arm and Selina frowned once more.

"What do I have to do?" Selina said, flexing her ankles. Wesker walked back towards her and flicked out a switchblade. Selina stayed still as he cut away her bonds, staying at arm's length from the powerful woman. As the final strip was cut away he scuttled back slightly, grasping the remote to his chest. Selina stood up, towering over the shorter man.

"Right, your first task," Wesker moved to his desk and picked up a file. "Gotham's Fine Jewellery Store. I shouldn't have to tell you where it is, it is definitely on your side of town and I am sure there was more than one occasion when mommy or daddy took you there for a birthday or Christmas present." Selina reacted slightly to his mocking tone, but with her eyes focused on the remote that held her life in its hands she restrained herself. "Scarface and I love money, you see, and we haven't had money in a long time. To tell you the truth, the poor kid doesn't know what it is like to feel a fifty between his fingers."

"You want me to rob a jewellery store?" Selina said, confused at the request, which although was not beyond her, was still completely unexpected.

"Yes, but I want it done tonight, now. Its just turned nine, you have until three to get me the money," Wesker sat down into a chair next to where Selina stood. "Oh and I will be calling you at half ten, twelve and half one- if you don't answer within three rings then you can, well, you won't be around to know what happens," he smiled crookedly.

"What are you waiting for kitty? Run!" he barked, handing her a black mask to cover her eyes. Selina frowned at him.

"You are just going to let me leave?" Selina looked, but saw Wesker's expression change completely.

"You can leave later, sit down," he hissed and Selina frowned.

"But you said..." She was cut off as Wesker hit her across the face.

"Looks like we have found a visitor," he looked at the doorway behind Selina. "I must remember to call the exterminator, we have a bat problem."

Bruce ran forwards, towards the much smaller, frailer man, but it was no use. Wesker was quick enough to jump behind Selina, push his switchblade to her throat with one hand and hold up the remote with the other.

"Don't move!" Selina snapped at Batman, feeling the knife nick against the skin on her neck. As blood ran down and over Arnold's hand he lifted it away slightly. Holding it up he dropped the 

blade to the floor and as Batman dashed closer Selina felt the same pain course through her veins that had consumed her earlier.

"What have you done to her Wesker?" Batman growled, seeing the stitching that ran up her bare arm.

"It's a new compound. Farmer in North Carolina are using it to put diseased animals out of their misery. It's still illegal in Gotham, but you know how this works- in Gotham you can always find what you need," Wesker waved the remote. "She has enough in her body to kill over five thousand people- now you wouldn't want to inflict that on her would you?" Even from his position Bruce could see the fear in Selina's dark eyes. The confident, intelligent, fearless woman he had encountered twice on the rooftops of Gotham had been replaced by a worried, nervous woman whom suddenly seemed very much her young age.

"Okay, I am not moving anywhere," Bruce held his hands up, keeping his voice deep in the Batman growl.

"Right now if you could please leave me be Batman," Arnold sat down. "I will have this with me every minute of every day, and something about spending so many years trapped in Arkham- sleep isn't as important," he face contorted into a twisted smile. Bruce looked at Selina who nodded for him to leave.

"Leave it Batman," she said, attempting a half smile.

Bruce looked at the woman with fear. She was so resigned to her fate, and although he could not imagine wishing to leave her here- there was no other choice that would leave her alive. Wesker had the remote clipped into his hand and the simple pressure trigger meant that he could press the button as a result of the slightest accident.

"Hurt her, and I will be on your tail before you can reach your twisted little mannequin," Bruce growled and backed out of the room. Within seconds he was back in the alley way, he kicked the nearest trash can with frustration and continued back to the tumbler.

Selina folded her arms and looked at Wesker. He had fitted make-shift CCTV around the building and could see Batman fleeing.

"Right, now you can go," Wesker tapped the remote against the table. "You have until three."


End file.
